


Outro (Revised)

by trevania



Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: Child Neglect, Established Relationship, Inception Reverse Big Bang Challenge, Injury Recovery, M/M, Mental Illness, Mentions of Sex, Recovery, Self Harm, Smut, Suicide, mentions of oral sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-10
Updated: 2014-11-10
Packaged: 2018-02-24 18:41:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,616
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2592146
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/trevania/pseuds/trevania
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"The wave of self-hatred that he tried to repress on a daily basis would take over his body and he would feel as insignificant as his mother told him he was."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Outro (Revised)

 

“Look, the last thing I need is for you to tell me that everything will be alright. People have been telling me that my entire life and it has never been true. Ever. So, lay off it.”  
  
“Eames, I’m-“  
  
“No, you’re just filling in a space with words because you don’t know what else to say. You all keep saying ‘Everything will be alright’ or some modified version. It won’t be.”  
  
His eyes soften under his hood and start to gloss over like he truly believes what he’s saying as he tugs on the frayed sleeves of his hoodie, pulling them down over his wrists.  
  
“Have you been cutting again?” Mr. Woyl asks as he eyes Eames nervously over his glasses.  
  
Eames gathers himself, sniffs and wipes at his nose before he slowly shakes his head ‘no’ in response, never making eye contact.  
  
“May I –“  
  
“Can we pick this up next week? I don’t feel well, he asks, voice shaky.  
  
“We can. You know where to find me if you need me.”  
  
Eames puts on some DJ Krush and heads back to his room. Mandatory counseling is more or less a joke, only once a week, thank god, and never in a group, but still a joke. In the grand scheme of things, he lucked out.  
  
Peterson Home for Boys was nothing like a typical boys home. The boys do not live in barrack style rooms with six bunk beds packed tightly together, sleeping on thin mattresses with sheets filled with holes and lights out at 10pm. There aren’t 60 boys living in one facility, sharing communal bathrooms and eating weird shit being passed off as food. These boys are allowed more freedom than most of them like to utilize and are treated far better than they’re used to. Sure, there are rules. No knives, razors, needles or blades. (Which doesn’t really stop anyone, because if you want a blade, you’ll find one and hide it well.) Take your meds when prescribed. No cursing. Mutual respect. There are the usual characters with predictable tragic backstories like Eames’, mostly no one wanted these boys or couldn’t handle them and they knew it. The boys never acknowledged it though. They mainly live like there is nothing wrong with them emotionally, mentally, or even physically in some cases, to the staff’s chagrin.

The place reeks of forced happiness, unspoken truths, and false smiles that illuminate even the brightest of rooms. Eames can’t wait to age out so he can stop telling people about how he spent most of his life by himself. His mother was never around and till this day he has no idea who his father is or was (most of his life he thought he was dead or at least hoped so. He always figured she worked late to avoid him as much as possible and just assumed she never really cared about him. To be honest, she never gave him any indication that he was truly loved. When other parents came to pick their kids up from school, greeting them, kissing them, asking them how their day went, Eames would just stroll on past with his hoodie up and headed home to an empty house. He longed for some kind of affection from his mother, but never quite knew why he didn’t receive it.  
  
When she was around, she was never kind or what Eames assumed a mother should be. Often times she’d speak of giving him away. She called him ugly, said his face reminded her of his father. “Your teeth are hideous. I guess you got those from your father too,” she would say. She had no problem reminding him that she wished he wasn’t around so that she could ‘live her life’. He tended to stay to himself with music as his only comfort. He’d eat and do his chores while she was at work or out late. He’d leave for school an hour early so she wouldn’t ruin his day before it even started.  
  
Deep down, he knew it had everything to do with his father, though he’d never met the man. Surely, no one would want to hear about th-  
  
He somehow wound up lying on the floor by his bed, blood forming a trail down his arm, settling into the carpet and the blade laying near his right hand as he sobbed softly to himself. He ended up like this sometimes and could never remember how he got there. His train of thought would focus solely on his mother and how she treated him. The wave of self-hatred that he tried to repress on a daily basis would take over his body and he would feel as insignificant as his mother told him he was. The music he loved so dearly would become a heavy white noise in his ears, cancelling out everything until he came to his senses, sometimes with fresh cuts below healing ones, often times crying or with remnants of tears staining his cheeks, and occasionally found by his roommate.  
  
“Eames? Can you even hear me? Eam-”  
  
The brunette rushes to his side, careful not to touch the blade, and gathers Eames up in his arms. He runs his hands through Eames’ long blonde locks, soothing him. They rock together as one as a mantra fills the air. Eames shakes through his tears against Arthur and watches the blood on his left arm start to dry. "You are loved, you are cared for, and you are meant to be here, ok Eames? You are loved, you are cared for, you are meant to be here. I love you." It's the last thing Eames hears before he falls asleep with Arthur's arms around him and his heartbeat against his back. He softly mouths _I love you too_ , but Arthur does not hear it.

 

**5 years later**

 

Eames drudges up the three flights to the apartment he shares with Arthur, careful not to bump his kit against anything, more out of concern for his equipment than his neighbors.   
  
"I wouldn't even have to worry about taking the stairs if the fucker just got the elevator fixed. I pay enough."  
  
It's 1 in the morning, exhaustion has set it, and the overwhelming fear of never being good enough is creeping in. All he wants to do is fall into bed with Arthur, breathe in his scent, and sleep forever.  
  
He opens the door to his apartment and the warmth washes over his skin and he feels content for moment. He places his kit down, and stripping his clothes off, dropping them as he walks toward the bedroom.   
  
Arthur's pretending to sleep for Eames' benefit, but Eames knows that he never feels comfortable sleeping unless he knows Eames is ok and home safe.   
  
"Morning pet,” he says he slides behind Arthur, wrapping his arms around him and kissing his hair.   
  
"You wanna talk about it?" Arthur mumbles with his face against the pillow.  
  
Arthur has taken on the role of being Eames' everything. He listens to him, he cares for him, he bathes him when he has to and he's completely ok with that. Someone has to be there for Eames, so why not him? Besides, that's what you do for someone you love.  
  
It often times did appear to be one sided between them though. When they were at Peterson, people always saw Arthur comforting him, mainly because he wore his emotions on his sleeve, and never the other way around. Arthur used to be the ‘suffer in silence’ type and still was. Counselors would tell him that it was unhealthy for him to be dedicating so much time to Eames and his needs while neglecting his own, but Arthur never saw it that way. He knew, behind closed doors, that Eames was there for him. When he was having a flashback, Eames would sit with him and remind him of where he was now and that he was safe. When he was having a particularly bad day and couldn't get outta bed, Eames would bring him food, comfort him, and make him playlists of songs he loved to brighten his mood. They were there for each other equally and had to be as they only had each other.

Tonight was no different.   
  
"I don't know, I'm just over bar mitzvah's and retirement parties. If I have to play another slow jam or the cha-cha slide, I just might kill myself."  
  
"Don't say that."  
  
"I'm serious, love. This is getting old. These people don't appreciate music, they just want something to listen to. To fill the space around them. They don't feel it like I do. They don't know how powerful it is, how transcendent it is," he says with a sigh. " I just-"  
  
"You just want to play at major venues for people who truly appreciate what they're listening to. People who have emotional reactions like you do. People who get it," Arthur says as he turns to Eames, eyes heavy with weariness and an underlying sadness for the man he loves.  
  
"I'm a joke, I know, for thinking I could be bigger than this. For thinking I could be anything at all."  
  
His tone is flat and his body radiates defeat.   
  
A sliver of light from the moon peeks through sheer blinds, casting a line of light across Eames' face. He stares at the ceiling, emotionless.  
  
"She was right," is all he says before rolling onto his side, away from Arthur. His blonde locks fall into his face and drape over his left arm. He touches the scars there, one by one, fighting the urge to cry and feeling his body starts to shake. Arthur, there by his side, kisses his neck and wraps himself around Eames. "She was never right," he whispers. "She was never right about you."  
  
"I wish it wasn't so hard to believe."   
  
"You know you have to convince yourself that you are worth it, E. I can tell you how much you mean to me or how much you're truly worth, or how much I love you, but you have to believe it," Arthur says.  
  
"I know you love me," Eames says, burying his face further into his pillow, "I just can't find it in me to feel the same way you do. I don't know if I ever can."

The shame and disappointment slink in. He tried very often to love himself. He would will himself to believe everything Arthur had said. To believe he was something. Something great. Something worth existing. And sometimes, Arthur got through. He would make another little path among the previous ones. This one was more positive than the last. This one meant to take. He'd nurture it, care for it, and watch over it, as he would Eames, until something stepped in.

Something would visit Eames on late nights, whisper in his ear, and tell him he was nothing. Something would ruin all of Arthur's hard work. Something would block the path or get rid of it all together. Leaving Eames and Arthur both emotionally spent and back at square one.   
  
And Arthur never complained. Never asked for anything other than for Eames to try and believe in and love himself. To many, a very small task, but to Arthur, Eames' life depended on whether or not he could truly find it in him to believe.   
  
"But you love me", Arthur says from behind Eames, drawing little circles on his back. "You found it in you to love me, so why not yourself?"   
  
Eames turns to him then. Reaching for his hand to entwine their fingers. Eyes searching, meeting Arthur's.   
  
"Of course I love you. You're the most amazing, gentle, strong person I know. I wouldn't have made it this far without you.” He whispers the last line over Arthur's knuckles. He kisses them, his glance never wavering.   
  
"I just wish you felt that same love for yourself," Arthur says with a sad expression on his face that Eames knows all too well.   
  
"I know, love. Me too."

 

+++

 

It was not unusual for them to have discussions surrounding Eames' past or his mental state. Eames usually prompted them or his behavior did. He would walk into a room and be entirely too quiet or if Arthur sent him long text messages and Eames' replies felt deflated or disconnected, he knew something was wrong with his mate. And they always talked through whatever the issue was and left it in that moment.   
  
"Try not to carry it over into tomorrow,“ Arthur would say, if the issues arrived in the night, and Eames would listen.   
  
He had made a lot of progress since leaving Peterson. More than any of the men and women that treated him over the years could have ever dreamed of him making. And it was more than likely do to the fact that Eames just didn't trust authority figures in his life or, at the time, adults in general. Arthur, however, got him stable. Helped him cope with the small things that were huge in Eames' mind. He even got him to stop cutting. Eames was 2 years strong by now and Arthur couldn't be more proud of him.  
  
But, he couldn't take all of the credit. Eames' decision to be a DJ was a huge reason behind his improvement. It gave him something to do that involved his love of music and kept his mind on more positive things. When he was making set lists, discovering new artists, studying other DJs, or making his own mixes, he didn't have time to focus on anything negative and Arthur for one was grateful. The must-needed distraction gave Eames a job and kept him busy and safe, if only for a little while.   
  
He would sit on the sofa, laptop in hand and headphones on, going over the playlist for the next nights gig, making sure all the songs would play and double checking their order. Arthur called this his 'center.' During those times in the day, he was so utterly tranquil, like there was nothing wrong in the world.   
  
"You look so at peace when you're working," Arthur would tell Eames.   
  
"There's nothing stressful about doing something you love," Eames would say in response.   
  
One of Arthur's friends from work, who was very into the club scene, ("and by into, I mean he just goes to a bunch of clubs and steals the people for his events" was how Arthur put it) was throwing a party and needed a DJ.  Arthur practically threw Eames' business card at him. Or at least that's what Eames would like to imagine happened from what Arthur told him when he came home that day completely geeked out about the opportunity.   
  
Arthur practically flew in the door and flopped down on the coach next to Eames. Hands flailing and talking entirely too fast. All dimples and teeth.  _He was so cute like this_ , Eames thought.   
  
"Eames, I told him you were a DJ and he said he'd call you! I'm so excited! Are you excited?" was the gist of their conversation after Arthur finally calmed down long enough for Eames to process what he was saying. But, he had to admit that he was pretty excited. It seemed like this was going to be a pretty live party and Yusuf was presented as an ok guy.   
  
"Arthur said you know your stuff, so I trust you. Just do what you do best, was all Yusuf said during their conversation and Eames wasn't complaining. He much preferred to choose the set, as opposed to having to use specific songs. In fact, it was one of the reasons why he hated doing birthday and retirement parties - they all wanted the same songs, over and over again.   
  
"It is just stifling, babe," he would tell Arthur on late nights after a terrible gig, in Eames' opinion, which, more than likely, was a great party.   
  
"Well, you're going to have to keep doing them, Eames. I'm sorry not everyone has your appreciation of music," was all Arthur would say.  
  
There wasn't much pay in this gig for Yusuf, certainly not as much as families were willing to dish out for their daughter’s Sweet 16, but the exposure was all Eames wanted along with sharing his passion for music with the masses of course. It was supposed to be a banger, so Eames had to do his absolute best. Nothing much to worry about now besides actually playing, which would be a breeze.   
  
Nothing brought him more joy than listening to music and he essentially got to do it for a living.   
  
"This could really open some doors for me, Arthur. I could finally be able to breakout into the club scenes. Maybe start getting some traction and a following," he says excitedly as he makes his way through the apartment to the bathroom. Arthur stands in front of the mirror taking selfies.  
  
"Did you hear me?" Eames says as he approaches Arthur, wrapping his arms around his waist and resting his head on his shoulder.  
  
"Of course I did and I agree. This will be great for you" Arthur says as he snaps another picture.   
  
"Your hair looks good today" Eames breathes into Arthur's neck. His eyes never waver from Arthur's in the mirror.   
  
"I know. That's why I'm taking all of these pictures. I look good for once."   
  
"You look good all the time, baby. More than good,” Eames practically moans as he moves Arthur's hair and kisses down his neck. Warm hands sliding under his worn sweatshirt and over his slender chest.   
  
"You're going to make me drop my phone, Eames," Arthur breathes with no real bite in his quivering voice. His breath has gone ragged and his pulse is racing. His chocolate curls fall into his face as he leans his head forward, one hand bracing the counter.   
  
"If all goes well tomorrow, I'll buy you a new one," Eames whispers into Arthur ear while one of his hands strokes Arthur's cock through his jeans. The brunette gasps and drops his phone in the sink, all but forgotten. Eames chuckles behind him.   
  
"I want to feel your cock on my tongue."   
  
Arthur groans.

Eames turns him around and they stare heatedly at each other. Clothes askew and hints of pink creeping up both of their necks. Eames leans in to kiss Arthur, only chaste, making Arthur follow his mouth, lunging forward to taste Eames' lips. Eames lets his hands roam down to Arthur's ass and squeezes, making him bite back a moan. Arthur cards his hands through Eames' long blonde hair, yanking his head back, pulling a deep groan from him, and lapping at his full lips.   
  
"I'm going to use this pretty mouth of yours," he says against Eames' mouth. "I'm going to fuck-“   
  
Their mouths desperately collide, teeth clashing, sharing each other’s air, gasping for what little of it there is. Tongues intertwine, lapping at familiar surroundings, and breathy moans are exchanged before Eames pulls away and drops to his knees, lust filled eyes never leaving Arthur's.

 

+++

 

Arthur and Eames decided to go to the party separately. So, Eames left an hour ago and Arthur was getting ready. He plays the last mix Eames made him when he was having a bad day. More specifically, he has Illangelo's 'Clockwork' on repeat. Admittedly, he loved it, and only because Eames wouldn't stop singing and playing it around their apartment. Truth be told though, it had kind of become one of their songs and having a DJ for a boyfriend meant you had a lot. 

  
"I belong to an artificial life" he sings to himself as he combs his fingers through his hair and moves about the bedroom, discarding his clothes as he went.  The beat filled the entire apartment and filled Arthur with joy for Eames and the night. Tonight, this party, was so important to him. He wanted so much for Eames to do well tonight, which he knew we would, but more than that, he wanted people to notice Eames. To notice his passion for music and his skill. Arthur wanted this night to give Eames the fan base he wanted and the notoriety he craved in the scene. Eames put all of his hopes and dreams into this gig and Arthur did as well simply because it was hard not to. Eames was so excited and dependent on this gig. How could Arthur do anything other than encourage him, no matter how terrible of an idea we knew it was to get his hopes up?   
  
He sends a quick text to Eames, "getting in the shower now. be there soon. love you" and hums as he entered the shower. Silently praying to whatever God he didn't believe in that this night went well and for the strength to help Eames as much as he could if it did not.

 

+++

 

Eames finishes setting up his kit for the show and goes over the files one more time.    
  
"You should have it mesmerized by now," Arthur told him last night as he went over the checklist again.   
  
The list, after careful examination and lots of fine tuning, have 9 introductory songs, 15 bangers, and 6  _calm but not too calm because the party’s over, but I still want them to enjoy themselves as they’re leaving and not just cut the music off_  songs. "It -" "has to be perfect, I know Eames," he kissed him on the forehead and went about his business.  
  
'Clockwork' starts to play as his phone skitters across his keyboard. Arthur's text illuminates the screen and brings a smile to his face. "Hurry here love" was all he could get out before Yusuf walked over to him. The other man looked very determined and not at all like Arthur described him, but that could just be because he was stressed about the party.   
  
"Alright, I'm counting on you to make this party, Eames. People are coming here to get wasted and listen to some good shit. So, don't make us look bad.”  
  
  
Eames was too excited to even take offense, so he nodded and put his headphones on. T-minus 30 minutes until the doors open. He has not been this happy since he and Arthur aged outta Peterson.

 

+++

 

It’s a little over 12:30 and while the floor isn't full or even the room for that matter, the few people that are there seem to be enjoying themselves. "Maybe it’s just early," was what Arthur said when he went up to the stage. He could see the distraught look in Eames eyes from his place at the bar with his co-workers and truthfully, they too, were wondering where all the people Yusuf had promised would be there actually were. It was well past the 'peak' party hour, Arthur knew, but he couldn't tell Eames that. He would just have to wait it out like everyone else.

  
He turns back to the bar and orders another Black Widow. From the look of it, the night was going to be long and not good after all. Eames was amazing though. He looked so gorgeous up on stage, spinning, and this was one of a handful of times that Arthur got to see him perform. If this would have been a regular night, Arthur would have jumped his bones in the car and then again when they finally got home. But this was not going to be one of those times.  
  
The people on the floor seemed to be making their way out while Eames was ending Sherlock House's ‘Exonite’. He loved that song and people leaving during it was a terrible sign. He'd transitioned into his calmer songs, meaning he was closing up shop early.   
  
Only Arthur noticed.   
  
He tries to meet eyes with Eames from the bar, but he never looks up. Yusuf walks over to the bartender, whispers something in his ear and walks away, towards the stage. Behind Arthur, the bartender begins to pack up his stuff. Topping bottles and cleaning glasses. Yusuf whispers something to Eames and the blonde nods. The current song melted so beautifully into Mogwai's ‘Wizard Motor’ and Arthur knew he was going to be ending soon. It was the second to last song on the set list. It was 1:15 in the morning and Eames, who still had not meet his eyes, was ending early.  
  
Yusuf weasels himself next to Arthur.  
  
"Eames did a great job for an amateur. Thanks for recommending him, but I'll use someone else next time." Yusuf says as he pats Arthur on the back. Heat radiates off of him as he tries to process what Yusuf was saying to him. The other man smiles, almost as if what he just said was supposed to be a compliment and that Arthur should be grateful for it. "He was amazing tonight" Arthur shoots back, voice full of venom, "Who are you calling an amateur?"   
  
"Look, Arthur, no hard feelings or anything, I just thought he would bring in a larger crowd or at least keep them dancing. He couldn't even do that" Yusuf says as he absently checks his watch like he does not have time for this conversation.   
  
‘Wizard Motor’ blends into Valentin Stip's ‘Temple’ and it was unnervingly eerie in contrast to the present conversation Arthur was having with Yusuf.   
  
"It’s your job to bring in people, not his. You're the reason this party was lame" Arthur spits out. His co-workers just sit at the bar, finishing their drinks, and watches the two of them go at it. No one dared say anything.   
  
"Arthur, just give it a rest alright. He's still getting paid even though he wasn't that great. So, be thankful for that" was the last thing Yusuf said as he turns to walk away from him.   
  
Arthur grabs his almost empty glass and throws it at Yusuf, barely missing his head and hitting the wall in front of him. Two of his co-workers grab him while another pushes Yusuf toward the door, as far away from Arthur as possible.   
  
"Art, you need to calm down okay. Just go wait on the stage with Eames. The night’s over. It's all over," one of them said to him. He wish they knew just how true those words were.   
  
The room had fallen almost silent now. Only soft spoken conversations could be heard. Arthur composes himself and goes to Eames. He saw him pretending to snap a rubber band on his wrist, but he didn't have one. He was doing it unconsciously, Arthur knew, but it meant he was close to a breakdown.   
  
"Hey, ba-"   
  
"I just, I just want to get out of here, ok Arthur,” Eames rushes out without stopping to breathe. Voice full of bite. “I don't want to talk about it. I just want to leave, now.”  
  
Eames was silent the entire car ride home. He sat, facing the window, eyes void of any real expression. Arthur ached for him. Once they arrived, he had to practically carry Eames up the three flights of stairs to their apartment, kit forgotten in the car. Once inside, Arthur physically sat Eames on the couch, where he fell onto his side and rested in the fetal position, curling into himself. He lies there silently, trembling, eyes blank. Staring at nothing.  
  
Arthur returns to the living room to retrieve Eames and take him back to the bathroom. He starts shedding his clothes once they are there, leaving them in a heap next to the bathtub. Eames willingly lets him, managing to barely managing to hold himself up and sniffles softy as Arthur comforts him.   
  
"It's going to be alright, Eames. Let's get you in the bath" Arthur whispers to him as if they are trying to steal a private moment in a room full of people. And truthfully, even though they are in their apartment alone, it feels like it’s bursting. Too loud. Entirely too loud.   
  
Arthur can't even begin to understand what is going on in Eames’ head. He wants to know exactly what Yusuf said to him and if he's going to have to take some time off work to hide his body. As he lowers Eames into the tub, he has a sinking feeling that everything the two of them have worked so hard on and toward is unraveling before them. The lifeless look in Eames' eyes says that he feels it too.   
  
Arthur rubs soap and suds over Eames' body once he realizes that the other man is not going to. Baths usually help Eames relax after a trying night -- they realized this back at Peterson -- and while Arthur loves bathing him, he always gives Eames the option to do it himself. It’s only right.   
  
"The night is over and soon you'll have forgotten all about it" Arthur asserts in an attempt to be as optimistic as he can and Eames sighs.   
  
It's the most he’s said since they left the party.   
  
Arthur places a kiss on Eames head and leaves the bathroom to give Eames some time alone. He gathers Eames’ clothes, wanders through the apartment locking up, closing windows, and shutting off lights. He checks his phone and sees multiple text messages from his co-workers.   
  
"are you and emes alright?"   
  
"artie, I just wanting too make sure your ok. Text me when you get this."  
  
"see you at work on monday? mayb?"   
  
A few more went unopened. He knew they cared, but they were not as important as Eames right now. "Eames," he says to himself as he turns off his phone, grabs a large towel from the bed and heads back to the bathroom only to stop in his tracks in the doorway when he does not see Eames. He runs to the tub and sees him submerged in the water, eyes closed, and no bubbles rising on the surface.   
  
"EAMES," he screams and reaches in the tub to pull him out. Eames' dead weight made it very difficult, but he pulls him out of the water, by hooking his arms under his love, and dragging him out.   
  
"What are you doing? What the fuck are you doing right now?" he cries out. Eames gasps the second the air hit his skin and coughs up a storm when he collapses onto Arthur on the floor. Arthur lies there beneath Eames, panting and in complete shock. Eames, after catching his breath, rolls over and curls back into himself. He shakes slightly from either the temperature in the room or shock.   
  
"You should have left me in there. You should have just left me" he says to Arthur, and that was the only thing he said for the rest of the night.

 

+++

 

The next three days were no better than Friday night.  Eames only left their bed to use the bathroom and even that looked like a struggle for him. Arthur brought him food that went untouched. When he tried to physically comfort him by rubbing his arms or stroking his hair, Eames was not receptive. 

  
He whispered to him loving and a somewhat sympathetic things that he honestly believed would comfort the man he loved, but it was not phasing him.   
  
"Eames, love, let's get up, yea? Let's just go to the kitchen and get something to eat. It'll make you feel better.”   
  
"Eames, do you want to talk about it? I'm here for you, you know that"   
  
"I hate seeing you like this."   
  
Each thing Arthur said to him became more and more sad. The sentiments dripped with worry and an underlying fear.   
  
Eames, when he was not dozing off, laid curled into himself, sheets pulled up to his neck, facing the shade drawn window with the same blank look he had on his face Friday night. He was not watching TV or more surprisingly, listening to music, which Arthur knew was the most terrible sign. Music was Eames' everything.   
  
If Arthur was a jealous man, music would be his enemy. There was nothing that music could not solve for Eames and when Arthur played some of his favorite songs or even 'Obloqui', which had become their main song superfluous, and got no reaction from Eames, it scared him more than he would even admit.   
  
Times like these made him wish he was back at Peterson with trained people who could help him. He had never seen Eames like this. He wasn't even sure Eames had ever been this depressed before. Arthur was always there to help him, keep him grounded and now that he wasn't even acknowledging Arthur's existence, what was he supposed to do and how was he supposed to assist him? He felt so useless and out of his depth.   
  
Arthur lies next to him on Sunday night, stroking his hair as he tended to do unconsciously, and just talks to him. For over an hour he sits, just telling him stories, unaware whether Eames was even listening, but he did not mind if he was not.   
  
"I remember the day you moved into Peterson. You had on an old black hoodie with random patches on it and everything you owned in the world in a duffle bag. Remember that hoodie? The sleeves were ripped up and there were holes in the wrists. You told me they made you take all the safety pins out. Your hair was much shorter then, but still long and always in your face. You walked into our room, well my room at the time, with Ms. Mildred and your head was down. Ms. Mildred went, 'Arthur, this is Eames. He's your roommate now,' and you looked up at me. I'll never forget your eyes. They were so bright. So full of hope and promise. I mean, obviously I knew you were troubled, we all were otherwise we wouldn't have been there, but I wanted to live in them. I think I fell in love with you then and every day after."   
  
Eames shifts underneath him, but does not say anything.   
  
"I know you're listening to me. I know my Eames is in there. I love him. I love him and I want him to be alright" he says as he strokes Eames's hair. "I know that it is not very easy for you right now and that it is simpler to say 'be alright' than it is to actually be, but I am here for you. I am here for you always."  
  
The weekend soon faded, with the memory of what a horrific night Friday was still blanketing his entire universe, and gave way to the start of the work week. The sinking feel of having to interact with co-workers who wanted to talk about Friday night or ask him invasive questions about Eames took a back seat to his partner’s mental state. It troubled Arthur to have to go to work and leave Eames in their apartment alone, but if he was honest with himself and perhaps a little selfish, he needed some fresh air for the sake of his own sanity. It’s very easy for him to fall back into his old habits, just as it is for Eames, and if he does not occupy himself. It’s one of the reasons he has a boring 9 to 5 job.   
  
He also figures that Eames could use a break from him, but given his little stunt the other day, Arthur just could not bring himself to feel content with Eames being home alone. When he left that morning, Eames had continued to reside himself to the bed, in practically the same position he'd been in since Friday night. He desperately hoped by the time he got home, that Eames had made some change. Calling and texting him through the day had rendered no reply and he expected it wouldn't, but a small piece of him hoped that Eames, at the very least, was moving or eating something.   
  
"I'm on my way home Eames. I hope you got up and walked around today. If not, that's ok too. I love you. See you in a few," he leaves on his voicemail.   
  
He pulls up to the building not even 10 minutes later, parking next to Eames' car. Arthur grabs his kit because even though he had not mentioned it all weekend, Arthur thought, the second he's feeling better, he will ask where it is or how it is.   
  
He smiles to himself at the thought of having Eames back as he makes his way into the apartment. Arthur walks inside and hears the low hum of the end of 'Obloqui' coming from down the hall, toward the bedroom. Eames always put it on every mix he made for him since before they left Peterson. It queues up again. On repeat.   
  
"It’s just a good transition from your present to your future, you know? Like, it’s the last bit of bad before good."   
  
Arthur would never understand how he could not just throw some songs together like everyone else, but he knew Eames would never be like everyone else.   
  
"Music has meaning, Arthur. They tell stories, relay emotion. It's odd, I know, just trust me," he'd say with a smile on his face.   
  
And Arthur always did.   
  
Arthur walks into their bedroom and notices that Eames wasn't in the bed. There was already a spark of joy in him from hearing music occupy their walls again and it intensifies seeing the sheets pulled back and Eames’ body out of the mold it made in the mattress.  That meant he was up and moving. That meant he was getting better. That meant that Eames would be back to his old self soon. Arthur honestly couldn't have been happier.   
  
"I'm so happy you're up and outta the -"   
  
Just as he rounds the corner to their bathroom, he finds Eames hanging from an exposed pipe, a piece of paper clutched in his right hand.

 

+++

Everything about that day was a blur. He doesn't remember anything about the evening other than the medley of light, sounds, and hearing something heavy fall. His neighbor would tell him later on about how he could hear Arthur screaming at the top of his lungs through the wall and how he become so hysterical that he had to be removed from the apartment and sedated.   
  
The autopsy said he'd been dead for at least four hours when Arthur found him.   
  
He requested to keep the note.

  
  
_"I'm sorry I couldn't make it alright._

_I love you."_

_  
  
_For days after, Arthur though he could hear Eames' voice. A laugh. A sigh. How he snored. The sounds he made when they made love. A murmur of a conversation they had in the past or about the life they would build together. But nothing hurt him more than hearing the music they enjoyed together and that Eames loved. The music he so dearly depended on and cared for. Arthur couldn't bear to listen to anything anymore. He often thought that Eames would be incredibly disappointed in him for abandoning music all together, but it was too hard. So the apartment was filled with deafening silence now. He thought of it as entirely empty because Eames was the one who brought it life. _  
  
_On his lowest days, Arthur swore that he could hear Eames himself, from where ever he happened to be, through the music he hears in the car, in the break room at work, or in the lobby of the doctor’s office, letting him know that he was still with him.  
  
And Arthur would tell him, "I'm trying my best to be alright. For the both of us."

 

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by [Kateison's](http://kateison.livejournal.com/) ["I Belong To An Artificial Life"](http://8tracks.com/irb_sock/i-belong-to-an-artificial-life) for the [Inception Reverse Bang](http://i-reversebang.livejournal.com/). 
> 
> Thank you so much to [the lovely Soph](http://archiveofourown.org/users/12AM) for putting up with me and being an amazing beta. <3
> 
> It was a pleasure.


End file.
